


Untitled (Day 3, The Writing Game)

by hesperia



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesperia/pseuds/hesperia





	Untitled (Day 3, The Writing Game)

They drive for 19 straight hours before Iain pulls the car into a deserted motel, but even then it still doesn't feel like enough distance from the last one. Charlotte knows she should hate him, for what his family has caused her to lose. She is the last of her name, and she has suffered greatly for it. He has suffered too, though he doesn't speak of it, but she can see it in the way he looks at her. 

The room smells like stale smoke and Charlotte opens a window to air the place out but Iain shuts it, flicks on the air conditioner. He sits in a chair by the window, the curtain open just enough so he can watch the parking lot. 

Charlotte takes a shower, washes her face and brushes her teeth. She looks at her auburn hair resting just below her shoulders. Hair like her mother had once. Charlotte can remember sitting on her mother's lap, reaching up with small hands to grab a curl of her mother's hair, playing with the silky strands. Reaching into her bag she finds the box of dye, pulls out all the pieces and reads the directions three times. Once to know them and once to convince herself it will make things easier. 

"What do you think?" she asks, when she opens the bathroom door, leaning her hip against the frame. "Do I make a good blond?" She has soft yellow waves now that frame her face

His face darkens and he swallows hard. "You didn't have to do that." 

"It can't hurt..." she counters, crossing the room to stand in front of him. "Besides, now I could almost pass for your sister."

When she mentions his sister his scowl deepens now and he looks away from her, looks out the window toward the parking lot. "You should sleep."

"You too."

"I'm fine." 

She shouldn't press him, she can tell he's angry about her hair, and Charlotte has to admit a part of her did it just to make him angry. With her new hair, she could pass as his sister, a much younger sister. He's 16 years older than her, more or less, but she's always looked older than her age and somewhere in the middle they seem to balance out. 

"Promise me you'll sleep for a bit?" she asks, as she crawls under the scratchy sheets. "You're the one that's driving all day and night."

He grunts in her direction, but offers no answer.

She wakes up a few hours later to him sliding into bed. The mattress dips with his weight and Charlotte keeps her eyes closed, pretends she's still sleeping. She's not sure if he buys it or not, but he doesn't speak to her. What he does is slip a hand over her hip, pulling her in toward his chest, her back coming up flush against it, his breath warm at the nape of her neck. 

"You smell good," he says, quietly, his hand slipping over her hip and into the bottom of her shirt, resting his large, warm palm on her belly. 

Despite all the days of them sleeping side by side, a thick wall of invisibility between, there is something different about today. But today, with her new hair and their new motel, he holds her like a lover, or so Charlotte thinks. She has never had a lover. There was a boy once, with hair and eyes like Iain's, he was a beautiful boy in Charlotte's opinion, but beauty can be cruel and twisted, she has the scars to prove that.


End file.
